The Shaman

A raggedy-looking old man was sitting in the waiting chambers of the Queen. As the helpers levitated the bed directly into the room, the Queen weak and tired with all the excitement of the morning, Aelanor and Nimuel followed them.

"O, wise Shaman of the mortal lands, I welcome thee to the castle once more," the Queen said in a weak voice.

The Shaman didn't seem to hear her. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be in some sort of trance. Not wanting to disrespect him, the elves stood there, silent.

An eerie energy passed through the room, as everyone lost track of time. It seemed like hours, or seconds that the Shaman just sat there, apparently asleep. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"I have never been to the elven lands before," he wheezed.

The Queen looked confused as she said, "But, Your Reverance, you did come to us a few years back, and you said some words. Pardon us, o wise Shaman, but none of our counsellors could comprehend them, and you left soon after. Perhaps, you have forgotten."

"We do not forget, Queen Gaelemar, neither do we visit any of the immortal lands more than once, in our lifetime," the Shaman said, and fell silent.

The elves looked at each other in bewilderment. All of them, except Aelanor and Nimuel, could vouch that the same priest had once visited the castle, and started whsipering their own doubts to each other. They stopped soon, as it became apparent that the Shaman himself was whispering something.

"...where the dusk goes to sleep and dawn wakes up, the far end of divine

In the shade of the tall grass... sages that burn... and crystals do shine..."

"...they know... they know of the warrior, who will, 

Through a procession of centuries be their end... they will kill...

(whoever lives through...)"

He took a deep breathe, then went on, "The gong that sounds in the distance beckons... the shadows guides the way... burn the sage... the clock only run half its course..."

"... the promises of the forked tongue, and faces do lie

When allies come together, the powers of the dark do fly..."

The Shaman started shivering, and his head fell on his chest. Frightened out of their wits, the elves looked at each other, but before they could utter a single word, the Shaman jerked out of his trance, and looked at Aelanor and Nimuel beadily.

"Princess Aelanor, you must leave!" he cried, suddenly, "you must leave. Lady Nimuel, take her and go."

Bewildered looks were exchanged as the Shaman stood up with his hand held high over his head, and he looked at the skies before he chanted, 

"The curse is upon the immortals... Those who can leave, must... Save them. Save them. The others will die."

He ran out of the chambers and out of the palace.

The elves who had followed him out the doors were whispering amongst themselves; the Queen and her helpers had gone back to her chambers. There was a snort, and they all turned to find the King standing behind them, accompanied by Moraen.

"A mortal priest!" he snorted, "the ones who can not save themselves are here to save us, from an imaginary curse."

"You think the curse is imaginary, Father," Aelanor looked daggers at him, "what do you think is Mother suffering from?"

"Your Mother is suffering from nothing but your disobedience. You broke her heart, left the immortal world for that mortal husband of yours. And what did it get you? A few years with a man, who is dead in his coffin, is it?"

Aelanor took a deep breathe to calm herself. Now was not the time for a heated argument with a bewitched and egoistic King.

"Father, you know something ails Mother. She will be gone if you do not take action," she said.

"I think she is right, Father," Moraen chimed in. "Something is certainly happening to us. These blisters upon the skins of the palace guards, and the Queen's plight..."

"And the townsfolk," Nimuel offered. 

"Lady Nimuel, I would leave the townsfolk for the moment Your Highness is in the clutches of such great peril," Moraen's eyes flashed, "I think her health should be our primary concern for now."

"But..." Nimuel started.

"Also, if you are more concerned for the common folks, I would advise that you go there and try to heal them. You posses druid magic, I believe?"

Nimuel nodded.

"Very well, then. Off you go. But I think you should follow up on the advice of the mortal Shaman who just ran out the door," she smirked, "he told you to leave the immortal lands and save yourself, and the Princess."

Aelanor opened her mouth to say something, but Moraen cut her off. "Sister, if there is indeed a plague that is sent out to harm the immortals, there is nothing that you, as a mortal can do. I would be at peace if I saw you walk out of the Eternal Utopia with my own eyes, and leave the mortal world forever. We could send out our best warriors and fighters to all the Kingdoms, and find out the source of this discomfort. You'd be safe, back at the Scottish Highlands, or wherever you intend to move next, just away from this curse, amongst your peers. Meanwhile, I can assure you that we will take great care of Queen Gaelemar, and send the news of her recovery with that dove of yours any day soon."

"But we cannot leave! It is her Mother and her Kingdom we are talking about. She cannot leave them just to save herself," Nimuel said.

"Nimuel," Aelanor interrupted, "I don't think we can help them by staying here. I think it is time we go back, and save ourselves, and let my Father and Moraen run their Kingdom their way. I trust that she will do what is best for her people."

Moraen smiled at her, "Of course, Sister. I promise I would not let you down in any way."